


For Work or Pleasure

by MischiefJoKeR



Series: Jimlock Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Flirting, M/M, Propositions, Riding Crops, Sex Shop, Sex Toys, Sherlock accident boner, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischiefJoKeR/pseuds/MischiefJoKeR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs a new riding crop, after his old one was disposed of. He's not the only customer in the shop for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Work or Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Anonymous on tumblr:
> 
> Sooo I have had this image in my head of Sherlock and Moriarty accidentally meeting up in a bdsm-specific sex shop. Sherlock is there to get some tools for further corpse-centric research and Moriarty is there because he either enjoys picking up his own toys or he knew Sherlock would be there and wants to flirt with him. Either way Moriarty is kinky and Sherlock realizes he's kind of into it.
> 
> Thanks for the prompt, it caught my interest right away, and sorry it took a while to get out!

Sherlock grumbled as he pulled his coat tighter across his chest. That was the last time he didn’t take one of Molly’s threats seriously. She’d said in that mother-hen voice “You can’t be forgetting your riding crop in the mortuary anymore, the supervisor will have your head!”. While it was an empty threat it did mean that the safe-keeping place for his riding crop was discovered and it was thrown away before he could retrieve it himself. Now he was in need of a new one. He was in the process of another bruising experiment, it was of utmost importance! 

That, and a few other things could come in handy. He was curious of the different make-ups of lubricants could provide a different experience during intercourse, and why a woman could get dizzy spells and seizures when exposed to one flavour and not another when she and her spouse copulated. 

John’s drawer had ceased being useful. He just kept the cheap packets for convenience. Obviously his convenience and not science’s. 

The location he discerned to make his stop was a metro stop away from Baker Street. He hardly wanted to take a cab and give the address to a a sex shop. He left the underground, hands in his Belstaff coat pockets as he went down the pavement. One block and a turn, Sherlock glanced up to see the unsuspecting store front, a bold white font giving the shop’s name above his head. PAIN 2 PLEASURE, with an open sign in the window and the rest covered by silken curtains. Sherlock pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit shop. 

The shelves went down the shop, which seem surprisingly longer than it looked on the outside. A clerk was at the register at the front of the shop, a heavier-set woman with piercings (most of which her ex-boyfriend did himself), a few tattoos on her biceps (again, not professional work), and a smoking habit since she was sixteen. She gave a smile, her tired eyes looking over Sherlock’s form as he nodded to her and made his way to the other end of the shop. 

Bands and strips of leather lines one wall, another coated with plastics made to shine and accentuate curves for items that’s destination was definitely not designed to accommodate. Lingerie and other cheap forms of “attire” lined the back wall all the way up to the ceiling. Sherlock hardly glanced over as he turned to the second aisle, finally finding his destination. Thick leather, colorful ropes, and links of chain and metal loops hung on hooks for purchase. He took two steps and found a row of riding crops of various lengths, widths, and patterns on the square. He picked up one, a little shorter than the one he had before, and set it back to hang. He picked up the one next to it, this one slightly longer but otherwise seemed identical to his previous crop. He turned it around in his hand, inspecting the flap strip of leather before slapping it down into his palm. Satisfied,he turned it over in his fingers and went to head back down the aisle towards the front. He stopped abruptly. 

Strolling towards him, hands in his dress slack pockets, the spider crawled. A grin expanded over his face, eyes wider and eyebrows up over his brow in surprise, but no less insanity set within the expression. Sherlock tightened his jaw, not letting his eyes stray from the other store’s patron. 

"Long time no see!" Moriarty said loudly enough that the store clerk would hear him. Typically that meant they’d be left alone to reminisce or catch up with one another without being pestered about their shopping. Bugger. 

"Not long enough." Sherlock responded, keeping his hands at his sides. No telling what Moriarty had in his pockets ready to pull. 

"Oh, such a kidder. Never knew you’d have a sense of humor Sherlock." Moriarty drawled, taking a few lazy steps more in the aisle of merchandise. His eyes roamed the shelves before settling his gaze where Sherlock’s fingers had been browsing. "Break your favorite toy? Or just looking for a new one?" He lets his hooded eyes slide back up to Sherlock’s, unblinking. The detective quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. "By toy I mean Johnny-boy, of course. Surely you slap him hard enough to make him cry. You should do well getting a new one."

Sherlock’s mind slowed, wires trying to reconnect after a short-circuit. Clearly Moriarty only said it to get a rise out of him, and it proved successful, at least in his mind— he remained standing straight without much complaint. Silence didn’t suit him. Moriarty chuckled and lifted off one of the crops, this one only different that there was a risen part of the flat that shaped a comical heart. Likely to leave a brand-like bruise on the inflicted flesh. Sherlock couldn’t stop a flinch at Moriarty slapped it onto his palm, much harder than Sherlock had himself. He inspected it, the reddening skin on his hand and the leather.

"Leave it to you to choose a ritzy little shag shack like this." He murmured once again, hardly even speaking loud enough for the detective to hear. "You’ve got no idea how you look in this place. All willowy with those eyes and coat of yours. Practically begging for a good fuck." His tongue clicked over his teeth to add emphasis to the word ‘fuck’, and even that caused Sherlock to take a deep breath. 

"Surely daddy Holmes didn’t teach you how to give a good thrashing," Sherlock forced his breathing steady as the pad of the crop stroked down the side of his face. "I wonder who did, then. If not Da…brother dear? Tut tut…" The crop slid down to Sherlock’s collarbone, where his tighter shirt didn’t hide the shape. 

"Moriarty, this-" His jaw snapped shut as the flat of the leather smacked onto his chest, just over his heart. It gave a few thudding beats before Sherlock made himself breathe again. 

"Don’t 'Moriarty this', darling. ‘But Jim dear, you’re too big and scary, please don’t swat me’.” He tapped the end of the crop under Sherlock’s chin twice, making it lift so Sherlock looked down his nose at the criminal. The voice he used was slightly lower than his own with less Irish to it, much more like something he’d use as a disguise, or apparently, an imitation. “I don’t think you quite realize what walkin’ in a place like this makes me want to do to you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered in that way that meant he was processing the statement. But his jaw remained clenched. He swallowed as the crop moved down over his Adam’s Apple, making it bob under the movement. 

"No, I don’t believe I do." Sherlock said, voice barely carrying in the aisle. His eyes slowly fell down to follow the crop. 

"I want to tie you up, let no one else see you for God knows how long." The end of the crop made shapes on his chest, getting stuck on buttons and then passing over them. "I’ve already got plenty of toys at home to use on you. Keep you still and stuff you full until you’re begging. I might even let you get off, if I don’t put a ring on that undoubtedly pretty cock of yours." 

Sherlock inhaled, smelling the scent of leather and plastic, aftershave and cologne. He’d not felt so frozen in place since…it must have been the pool. And even then he could wave a gun around for some moments. Another shuddering inhale went through him as the crop stopped making shapes over his chest and dropping lower, to his waist, teasing the line where his trousers began. 

"I rather like this one, I think. Could leave little bruise-purple hearts all over that arse of yours. You’d be feeling it for days. Even prancing around with the coppers you’d be reminded of me. I love leaving little notes for you…" Sherlock jolted back a step as the end of the crop dipped down underneath his waistband, over where his shirt tucked in. "Just so you think of me."

He let his eyes shut for a second as he took an inhale of air, even as littered with leather and mustiness the breath was. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, throbbing and…well maybe it wasn’t the only thing starting to throb. His eyes snapped open and saw the realization mirrored on the consulting criminal’s face: his eyes lighting up, pupils blown and grin wider. He kept his eyes on the Irishman, hanging the crop gripped tightly in his fingers back onto the hook. With a nod Sherlock walked past him, his coat only doing so much as brushing past the fine-dressed man. He couldn’t get the heavy swinging door open fast enough.He turned and disappeared into the tube station, hanging onto one of the poles in a tight grip like the crop’s handle.

The stop at Baker Street arrived shortly, and even a ride away from the criminal didn’t hinder his feet from walking quickly up the steps to the second floor flat. He swung the door shut and removed his coat in one movement, as he usually did. John glanced up from over his paper, having returned early from the clinic, it seemed.

"New case?" He asked, expectant.

"No, just checking in on Molly when she’s getting those ears for me."

"Right, forget I asked." John buried his nose back into the newspaper as Sherlock spun around into his bedroom. A shower, that would ease the adrenaline coursing through him. He grabbed clean pants and retreated into the bathroom before John caught onto his rushing. The hot water doused him in steaming relief, making his muscles flinch and then sigh into the waves. The words Moriarty spoke should have easily been dismissed as manipulation, and yet it didn’t stop just a psychological and…physical reaction. Sherlock ran a hand through his drenched curls, clearing his eyes for a moment as the other hand brushed gently over the curls down his belly. He inhaled, giving himself a couple light strokes almost as if soothing a rambunctious child. That was not part of his work, and would remain such. Moriarty was the work, not whatever this was.

Minutes flew by before Sherlock moved to actually cleanse his hair and body, avoiding his groin and relaxing as the organ seemed to settle as well. The water shut, he pulled a towel and shook out his hair haphazardly, letting the towel take out the large portions of wetness and leave a curled, insane mess upon his skull. The towel went around his waist as he reentered the flat, slipping back into his room. Goose flesh spread across his limbs and neck, the sudden chill unexpected. Sherlock donned his plaid dressing gown as he stared into the room. 

Window open, as it had not been when he’d left. A long, flat box placed on the bed spread, that had hardly been disturbed, if but a little straightened. Warmth pooled in his belly once more, unable to resist opening the box and holding the crop in his pruned fingers, thumb tracing over the heart-branded pad at the end. 

This would have to be separate from the work.


End file.
